


waiting for a sign

by unorigelnal (jayburding)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-05-10 19:53:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5598763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jayburding/pseuds/unorigelnal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finn survives. Of course he does, Finn doesn’t seem to know any other way of doing things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	waiting for a sign

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thejerseydevile](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thejerseydevile/gifts).



Finn sleeps a lot in the beginning. It’s three days before he so much as stirs, and then his unfocused eyes skate over the room for a scarce few moments before he drifts off again. Looking for someone who isn’t there. She promised she’d be back, just never specified when. Finn could be waiting a long time.

He wakes again the next day, long enough to spot Poe and recognise him, the pilot’s name on his smiling lips. Poe keeps him talking while they test him again, their conversation a test in itself to measure his strength. Only when the medical staff are satisfied will they even start all the work they have planned: fixing a spine is no mean feat, and the work they do is likely to take as much out of Finn as the damage already done. He has to be strong enough.

“You really made a mess of yourself,” Poe tells him, sat in what has become his usual place at Finn’s side. Gossip is already rife on that point. “Playing the hero.”

He’s wearing Poe’s jacket again. Damn thing was all but in pieces, as was Finn, when they arrived back after Starkiller went up. Euphoria gone in a flat second, the moment he cut through the crowd, saw Finn laid out on the truck and heard the medic say there was a heartbeat, as if it had been in doubt. The way Rey crumpled, so fast Chewbacca had to catch her, it really had been.

Poe found the jacket discarded along with the rest of Finn’s scorched gear as the medics tried to stabilise him, found the cut through the back, ran his fingers over the scorched edges. He sat outside, out of the way, and laid neat, careful stitches into the leather to close the holes while he waited for news. He’d done it every time before for himself, but it felt more important then. Should have been a lost cause, but he had to fix it.

“Need to stop following such bad examples,” Finn says, eyeing him up. That’s about all he can do for now, restrained as he is to ensure he doesn’t hurt himself further before they fix him.

“Don’t look at me,” Poe says. “You’re the one who played hero before he had a name.”

He regrets it as soon as he says it, touching on such a sore spot. His tongue seems to run way with him when it comes to Finn.

“Well I got that from you too didn’t I,” Finn retorts, no sign of offence, smiling in that soft way that might well be down to painkillers, but still makes Poe’s stomach flip over regardless.

“You need to rest then,” Poe chides him to cover what is going to be one hell of a blush, as if that isn’t all that Finn’s doing. “They have to fix you up first if you’re going to keep up with me. Need you with me for the next mission.”

“Count on it,” Finn says, offering his hand. He does that a lot: seeking a touch without even realising. Touch starved doesn’t even begin to describe the Stormtroopers, if Finn’s any measure. Poe takes his hand and grips it tight. Everything he wants to say bubbles up, hot and fervent.

The med droid chooses that moment to let itself in without knocking, and asks Poe to leave. Med droid bedside manner is not what it could be.

“I’ll see you after,” he says, and lays a kiss on Finn’s cheek while he’s feeling brave. Less chaste than he intends perhaps, but forehead was already taken. No need to disturb Rey’s mark.

It’s a long night. Poe waits outside, sitting and pacing by turns, anxious as any number of relations he cannot claim over Finn. General Organa comes to stand with him at some bleak hour between midnight and morning, with the same look of someone that sleep will not touch. She doesn’t offer words of comfort- she might not have any after everything that has happened- but he appreciates her quiet presence regardless.

Finn survives. Of course he does, Finn doesn’t seem to know any other way of doing things. Throwing down against Kylo Ren using a weapon he had no training with and surviving? Normal people don’t do that. Normal people die fast that way.

Finn is just happy to sit up right again, though it’s obvious he’s going to be chafing again soon enough, eager to be up and walking, running, chasing after Rey to whichever corner of the galaxy she’s currently inhabiting.

No word from her, none that has gotten as far as Poe or Finn anyway, though General Organa’s lack of immediate concern speaks volumes regarding how well the worst kept secret mission in the Resistance is going. If Rey has no time for personal greetings, or requests after Finn’s health (Finn’s not sore about that, he insists he isn’t, he’s too busy being actually sore), they can only hope it’s for good reasons. They likely won’t know until she returns (if she returns). No messages have been passed to her on Finn’s behalf either, but then again, Poe’s certain he hasn’t asked.

“The General’s probably told her that you’re ok, but if you wanted to send a message yourself I’m sure she’d allow it,” he says during the quiet after Finn’s physical therapy. He’s doing incredibly well, already moving around the room in stages, but his frustration is obvious. Poe’s been there and done that on both counts, which he tries to remember when Finn’s temper is short.

“If she already knows, there’s no point,” Finn says. “It’s not important.” Today was a good day: he’s tired, but not hurting too much, and the medic’s comment on his progress seems to have salved his frustration somewhat. This isn’t speaking from his frustration. This is something else.

“You are important,” Poe insists. “Certainly very important to Rey.” And to me.

“Not as important as Luke Skywalker.”

There’s not a hint of envy to be heard. He says it like it’s a fact, and maybe by a certain measure that might be true, but that’s not a measure that Poe employs, and certainly not one that Rey would allow either.

“Bantha fodder, pure and simple,” Poe says, and shrugs when Finn gives him an incredulous look. “It’s not a contest. Luke is important, we wouldn’t be looking for him if he wasn’t, Rey never would have left if he wasn’t, and even then she hated to go, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t.”

Finn doesn’t look convinced, and it hurts the same way it does when he takes Poe’s hand, that reminder that Finn isn’t familiar with comfort, with being cared for and valued.

Poe does it for him, taking his hand and holding it tight between his own.

“You broke me out and ran because you didn’t want to kill for the First Order. You got BB-8 back to the Resistance because you remembered my mission when you thought I was dead. You walked into Starkiller because you knew Rey was there, and it never occurred to you how suicidally brave that was, not even when you faced down Kylo Ren. I meant it when I called you a hero.”

“And,” he continues before Finn can interrupt him. “That’s only part of it. You’re kind and you care, and you’ll do the right thing even when you’re kriffing terrified. You’re a good man, Finn. There’s a reason Rey looks at you the way she does. She loves you, and with good reason.”

“Oh,” Finn says, quiet, revelatory. He looks at their joined hands like he’s trying to work something out. “What about you?”

Poe tries to look less like a man caught out, and probably doesn’t succeed at all. “Me?”

“Is that why you look at me like that?”

The hopeful tone is what does him in, that grip on his hand that’s still tight even though Finn’s seen right through him. Poe Dameron wears his heart on his sleeve and has never done a good job pretending otherwise.

“Maybe,” he says, wondering where all his courage has gone. “What if it was?”


End file.
